


Dark Paradise

by LelithSugar



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: (sort of), Bottom!Harry, Comedy, Dirty Talk, Established Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Fetish, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Kink Negotiation, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Not Canon Compliant, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Sex, Smut, not much though, some actual spy stuff, switch dynamics, though not entirely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 16:16:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15319326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LelithSugar/pseuds/LelithSugar
Summary: Being sent on an undercover mission in an exclusive London fetish club means some important conversations need to be had.How do you feel about Harry Hart embracing the fact he's a grubby old pervert who will do absolutely anything to please his boy? Positively? Excellent.





	Dark Paradise

**Author's Note:**

> This, again, was one of those things I insisted I wouldn't be writing, and you can thank Addie for that, as I do, always. 
> 
> I have horrific writer's block, believe it or not, and am just pushing stuff through to try to unstick myself. Encouragement and new ideas always gratefully received.

Dark Paradise

   


“If you think I'm going undercover as a literal gimp, you've got another think coming bruv.”  

Harry would be lying if he said that Eggsy, standing between their boardroom table and a screen showing scenes from an up market - which is not to say in any way tasteful - fetish club, very seriously gesticulating at an equally sober-faced Merlin is the most surreal moment of his espionage career, but it must scrape into the top five. Entertaining though it may be, however, some things are just too ridiculous for Harry to allow. 

“Don't be absurd. We haven't got anywhere near the leadtime getting you a suit like that would require.” Eggsy's body may be perfectly -  _ perfectly -  _ shaped for very many things but form-fitting catsuits are most certainly not amongst them, and now he's had cause to think about it Harry is not sure how he feels about that image at all. “With your measurements you'd need it custom made and latex is an absolute bitch to work with.”

Eggsy stands still for a moment like he’s not sure which bit of that to unpick first.

“No offence, love, but  _ bespoke gimp suit  _ is probably the most Harry Hart thing I've ever heard in my life.”

“Gentlemen!” Marlin brings the conversation smartly back to heel. Perhaps he should be the one going toe to toe with the best of London’s fetish scene but then, perhaps barking orders and delivering withering put downs might be a little too much like a busman’s holiday. “I cannot tell you how pleased I am that this will not involve me having to see either of you” - he looks down an accusing finger levelled at Harry… unjustly, Harry feels, although he can understand where Merlin is coming from - “in any such thing. The club itself isn't the issue. It just seems to be the easiest way for us to get close to a group who frequent it who also seem to have some rather less wholesome sidelines.”

Earnestly on board, Eggsy doesn't even take the bait about what part of this picture constitutes ‘wholesome’, even though he's standing in front of a projection of a naked man in a pig mask gyrating with a string of tinsel. 

“Oh so we've got to infiltrate and make friends, get involved, see what's going on?” He's close to cracking his knuckles with excitement, and who can blame him? This is the fun side of what they do, the parts that nobody would believe even if you could tell them the truth. There’s entirely too much admin in espionage these days, not quite enough daredevil feats or glamorous schmoozing on other people’s money for Queen and country: getting paid to escort your boyfriend to a weaponised swinger’s party surely counts as a perk.

“Even better, actually,” Harry chimes in, having leafed a few paragraphs ahead. “All we've got to do is submit the memberships and do a walk through to recce the place. Kay and Gawain will be going in later for the rest. ”

“Kay.” Eggsy's delicately sharp eyebrow shoots up. “And Gawain.”

“Oh, shush.” Kay and Gawain’s dalliance, or obliviousness to the inevitability of one forming between them, is absolutely none of their business. It may just be that Harry and Eggsy are particularly well placed to see a few patterns forming. “We could basically leave after that, if we wanted to. But that might arouse suspicion I suppose.” He lets his smile tell Eggsy that they can absolutely leave, but why  _ would  _ they?

Eggsy looks to Merlin for confirmation that this is in fact the dirty night out on the company card that Harry is implying, which is touching, and Merlin gives him an obliging little shrug that is as good as telling him that as long as it’s kept within reason and he’s not subjected to anything he’d rather not see, they may as well take it as a jolly. The chances are few enough. 

“Huh. Yeah, I'm in.”

“Excellent. We can hash out the details later.” Harry winks, and when Eggsy goes to ask another question Harry raises his eyebrows and he shuts up. 

“Have you developed some sort of tick, Galahad?”

Merlin really, really should know better than to tease Harry, after all these years. It rarely goes well for him. 

“Oh I do apologise, Merlin. Would you rather be involved in this conversation? I suppose I could do with a second opinion, tell me, where  _ do  _ you stand on the tail debate - belt, or plug?”

“Get out.” 

***

Eggsy can’t help the smirk that starts pulling at his face as soon as he goes through their bedroom doorway because there’s Harry, in his pajamas with his glasses on, poking at his tablet very seriously like he’s reading the Financial Times or some classic literature but he’s blatantly still looking at the stuff from that club. He’s predictable, for a start, and he’s gone bright fucking pink in a way Eggsy rarely gets to see and which is definitely not caused by a scroll through the current affairs headlines. 

“You lookin’ at that club’s website again?”

“Doing a bit of research,” sniffs Harry, but it’s all put on and if anything he’s trying not to laugh at being having caught not so much red handed as red faced and his hands... well, they’re both politely in view, for now.  “Strictly mission related, obviously.” 

“Obviously.” Eggsy rolls his eyes and tuts with his tongue. “No it ain't. It's got you well hot and bothered.” He’s grinning, crawling across the bedspread to pull it taut over the bulge he expects to find, and is not disappointed: Harry may well be an expert at maintaining his cool when required, but when it isn’t Eggsy loves how responsive he is, how little he tries to hide. “Budge over, let’s have a look.”

No actual budging is required so much as Harry changing the way his weight is resting, allowing Eggsy to duck under his arm and snuggle against his side. Eggsy’s still dressed, but other than that the scene has a sort of perverted stories-at-bedtime vibe that, guiltily, neither of them is likely to be put off by, but that’s for another time. Eggsy looks on quietly whilst Harry swipes through part of a gallery, watching for what’s making him blush: there’s a lot of flesh on show in the crowd pictures, no immediately obvious theme but a lot of red and black and shiny that’s starting to make lights ping on in the switchboard of Eggsy’s libido even though he’s not sure what specifically he’s seen amongst the images flashing past that’s piqued his interest. He begins to suspect a bit of the ol’ NLP but by then he’s clocked enough straps and buckles and naked flesh and clean rope to realise part of his brain just thinks he’s watching porn. He might as well be.

“So is it gonna be like, people getting tied up and whipped and stuff?” 

He thinks he knows the drill, and right on cue there’s a photo of an older guy, stretched out being lashed across the back like something out of  _ Hornblower:  _ a few pink marks already evident but nothing too drastic. Eggsy’s probably less bothered by that than he expects to be.

Eggsy’s taken a fair few beatings, doesn’t really get how that could turn you on but at least he’s confident he could withstand whatever Harry might want to dish out nice and bravely, look good for him doing it if that was something he wanted, and  _ that  _ Eggsy could get into. It’s the thing about him and Harry: they get into this nice little feedback loop of being turned on by something turning the other on, like... Harry gets hard for Eggsy being so obviously keen to please him, showers him in praise and will do anything,  _ anything  _ to make Eggsy happy. And back the other way, Eggsy knows Harry still has trouble believing his luck that Eggsy wants him sometimes, and the more Eggsy shows how badly, the hotter it gets Harry and the more he lavishes affection on Eggsy, the more wanted Eggsy feels and the more he can’t keep his hands off him. It’s a sweet little arrangement they’ve got going on, really. Cushty. 

…the point being that Harry makes everything so good, so easy that Eggsy will be game for anything he suggests. And that might be just as well, because Harry’s eyes are like the first time someone told Eggsy you could put Captain Morgan’s in hot chocolate: the colour - scorching bottomless brown; the heat; and the sense that you probably shouldn’t be doing this and it might be a terrible idea but fuck, weren’t you going to have a great night finding that out? 

“Only in the playroom, I think.” Eggsy can barely remember what Harry’s talking about until he looks down to the slideshow and it's not so different from when he's wandered into the BDSM videos towards the end of his porn searches leaning particular ways, which is more often than he's about to let on. Just a little harder. “So we can avoid it if you’d rather not see…”   


“Nah, you’re alright.” It doesn’t bother him. He knows people only go in for this stuff because they get off on it, and some of it might not be Eggsy’s cup of tea but each to their own, right? And he doesn’t want to give Harry the idea he’s not game before even finding out what it is he wants to try, because something is obviously taking his fancy, and it could be all sorts of things Eggsy doesn't even know about yet, knowing Harry, and he trusts him. The slideshow flips from a fairly self-explanatory restraint bench, the type Eggsy’s seen people teased senseless on in the videos that did capture his attention,  to something he can’t even work out which end of is which, and where would you - 

“What is  _ that?” _

Harry mumbles  something like _ “I'm sure I haven't a clue” _ and tabs off it so quickly that Eggsy gets the distinct impression he just doesn’t want to have to tell him… in case it puts him off, or in case he gets ideas?  Not clear. “But otherwise, the acts look worth a watch, and there's a couple of bars, a couple of dance floors, a lounge…”

Eggsy snorts out a laugh at the idea of a being chilled out on a sofa with all that going on, then realises from the picture that he’s serious, and amidst all the fire and trapeze artists and cages at least some of the furniture is actual furniture and not like, people pretending to be coffee tables.

“It's not all hardcore then?”

“Not at all. Not everybody goes to play. People just enjoy an opportunity to get dressed up and be themselves around the like-minded and liberal.” Harry hasn't talked about dressing up as yet, which either means he's planned every detail to the stitch or doesn't have a clue and has got the fear about it. Eggsy doesn't think he's got a thing about Harry wearing anything particular, until he actually thinks about it and realises that of course he does, but if he's going to see that he'd rather be at home where he can take him out of it again.

“Huh. Whatever tickles your pickle, I guess.” 

“No? Not yours?” 

Eggsy can’t tell if Harry looks disappointed or just confused by his lack of enthusiasm. Yeah, it’s his bag in the sense he likes the look of it all, the mad outfits and decor, the darkness, the general sense of debauchery, like something out of Oscar Wilde; he can see where Harry would get the idea he might want to dress up and be surrounded by that sort of thing for a bit… but he might like it too much, is Eggsy’s issue, and Harry might wind him up about it on the regular but he’s right. Eggsy’s not great at delayed gratification.

“I dunno. It's like lap dancing and shit.” Another strange indulgence he’s never quite got his brain around the appeal of, in practice. “I dunno why you'd wanna get all horny and about it when you can't do anything, ‘cos if you have a good night you've either got to get a cab home with a boner or risk the bogs…”

Harry clicks his tongue, still looking at the tablet and scrolling through a menu to find something although Eggsy’s pretty sure he sees him look sideways to gauge his attention.

“I doubt that would be necessary. I gather their license allows for sex on premises.”

That makes slightly more sense to him. Fucking rich people and their weird sex parties.  “Like them rooms you can rent upstairs at The Limes?”

Harry shakes his head and points at one of the highlighted headers on the screen. “The term  _ couples’ room _ is purely euphemistic." Well, you could tell that from the stress Harry puts on the words, like he can't articulate them without raising his eyebrows. "Certainly not restricted to the traditional definition of a couple, and  _ certainly _ not restricted to two people at a time.”

Eggsy notes, under the tip of Harry’s finger, what is possibly the world’s most significantly placed apostrophe, and then skim-reads the paragraph of flowery prose below that describes luxe furnishings and low lights, then just slides into freeflowing supplies of condoms and anything else you might need on hand, casually slipping in the fact you can watch and be watched whilst you’re at it like that’s as normal a provision as the fucking cloakroom. 

“I'm  _ sorry _ . They  _ what _ ?”

“That interests you, does it?” Harry isn’t going to get away with pretending that’s a genuine question any more than Eggsy would get away with pretending the answer is no. His tendencies towards exhibitionism are hardly well hidden, these days, and has Harry honestly just told him there’s really clubs where it’s okay to have full on sex, like you won’t even get kicked out, and they’re fucking  _ going to one _ ? Eggsy gets so hard so fast it almost makes him dizzy, staring at the page still open on the screen, so consumed by trying to process the tangled sprawl of beds and sofas in the accompanying picture he can barely get a sentence out.

“You're allowed to just… get your mack on right there, with all the people-”

Harry chuckles. “Well,  hopefully not  _ all  _ the people…”

“Shut up, Harry.” He mumbles it: the nerve is raw, now, exposed and sensitive. Harry must know as well as he dies that Eggsy’s got little to no interest in swapping or involving third parties - not that a brush of an arm or something from someone being close by would put him off, and  _ Jesus _ , actually, the thought of being close enough that you’d bump elbows with someone else getting theirs is a gratuitous thrill right now - but he’s pretty sure they’re on the same page as far as a look but don’t touch policy is concerned.

As in, the looking would be more than welcome. 

It dawns on him that Harry might have been holding that revelation back on purpose to catch him off guard and use it to tease him with, because if he’d just come out like  _ hey when we get there we can shag in a room full of people  _ Eggsy would have already had his shoes on, and the event’s not even on until next weekend. The tables have turned quite dramatically without him realising, somehow, because now Eggsy knows he’s red in the face to the back of his neck and Harry is the one looking at him with a wry, knowing smile just pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“You've never had sex in public?”

Eggsy shakes his head, although he’s pretty sure Harry would have known if he had. Well, he slipped a bird a couple of fingers in a club in Chelmsford once, and there’s definitely been times he and Harry have got down to it regardless of the fact others might be in earshot or going to see them walk out after and blatantly know what had been going on, but if Harry was counting those he wouldn’t be asking. He’s never been watched. And the tone of Harry’s voice says of course he knows to tease him about it, because he knows exactly how Eggsy gets about being visible: about bitemarks and bruises, about deep kisses and holding hands and pinches on the bum two seconds after someone says something homophobic or someone obviously thinks he’s Harry’s son  _ again _ . He doesn’t know why he likes it, but he does, and having people see their fledgling kinky side displayed outright, in clothes or gestures  - let alone the idea of them actually watching the real action - was always going to press his buttons. 

No wonder he wanted to save this chat for bedtime. Quite suddenly, the amusement of a hunt in Harry’s eyes has turned to hunger for the catch, and he repositions them gently so that he can lay a kiss on Eggsy’s cheek, slowly, and then another on his jaw.

“Well, there you are. So in answer your earlier point, does knowing that any…  _ arising desires  _ could be indulged make you feel any more inclined to play?” He runs his palm up Eggsy’s thigh under the covers, and Eggsy feels the bloom of arousal at the sudden realisation that Harry is not purely offering for the sake of his experience or the mission; that there has been absolutely no question as to how Harry himself feels about having an audience and,  by this point in proceedings, no need to ask. 

No  _ need  _ to ask but that doesn’t mean Eggsy isn’t going to, because he knows how Harry works and would bet his week’s wages it’s the fantasy of them rather than the pictures of others that’s got Harry dark eyed and almost panting, feeling him up and looking at Eggsy’s mouth rather than his eyes whilst he waits for an answer.

“Yeah, I’m game as fuck. So you wanna, like...”  Some idea has obviously turned Harry on and Eggsy’s going to make a punt at it, just to show willing if nothing else. He stretches at the back of his polo shirt collar and Harry turns to him fully, tablet and pretext that they might be going to sleep any time soon both set aside. “... pull me around on like a collar and lead and all that stuff?”

Yeah, Eggsy’s got a collar. So what? It’s soft, supple brown leather and has a lead that goes with it although they play with that a lot less. The collar itself is comfortable, nice for grabbing hold of, and makes Eggsy feel special and doted on, switches his brain into gear.  Ain’t a big thing. Not like he lives like that or anything, though when they’re playing that game sometimes he likes to imagine the he does, taking it one step further so in his head he’s just this… pet, slave maybe, he doesn’t think about that bit it in words... waiting chained up and kneeling to suck Harry’s cock, or to rub his feet, or to pour his drinks and let Harry fuck him however he wants it, any time. He reckons Harry knows he’s thinking it, too. Maybe that’s why they both get off on it so fucking hard.

Is he ready to trot that out to an audience? That’s kind of standard fare for those sorts of places, isn’t it? He’s not going to lie, the idea of being caught or seen doing something like that’s been a bit of a thrill too, but there’s a bit of a difference between how that feels when its just them at home and in the cold light of somewhere with a bar and strangers. The idea’s hot as fuck, but he’s not really sure he’s got the bollocks. Not sure he’s ready. 

“We could, if that was something that interested you.” 

Eggsy doesn't jump in to answer either way, because Harry’s tone implies there are other options on the table and the dreamy, lust-drunk look on his face makes it obvious that those aren’t simply turning up dressed normally, getting on with the mission and going home for tea and hobnobs: that - Harry looking over his body like he’s trying to work out which bit to eat first - is Harry wanting to play, and Eggsy racks his brains for what he might want to dress Eggsy as or have him do even whilst the sudden thunder of his pulse in his cock informs him without room for argument that he will do whatever it is that the idea of has made Harry look at him like that. Sign him up.

“But if we are going to be seen, if it's actually appropriate for once to parade about being quite so smug and disgusting,” - a kiss, and Eggsy smiles as their mouths touch, Harry looking at him tilted and coy - “I was rather hoping  _ you _ might be the one to take the upper hand.”

The upper-? Oh shit, yes.

***

In the briefest of silences,  Harry keeps his eyes lowered and fancies he might actually be able to hear his own heartbeat. It's not new ground, exactly, but it's new enough to still be wary. When he chances to look, Eggsy is looking back at him with his head angled: he's not silly, he wants confirmation rather than clarification, and he's obviously interested. It's almost like he doesn't want to hope until he's sure, which plucks at a string of Harry's interest, makes the last of his blood supply head south with intent.

“Like,  _ top _ -top, yeah? Yeah.” Eggsy puffs up just slightly from the chest. Harry has no idea if he knows he does that whenever the balance slides in this direction, but it works, that squaring of his posture making him a touch more imposing, more impossibly perfect. Tempting but untouchable is a space he inhabits well by nature, and judicious application of praise and ego-stroking from Harry doesn’t seem to lessen the effect at all. Still, his face doesn’t quite show the same confidence. “But I don't know much about it.  Bit shit if I’m supposed to be in charge, if you’ve got to tell me what to tell you to do, ain’t it?”

Harry does understand. Eggsy’s enjoyment of any submissive role hinges on being treasured and cared for, and in Harry being a faultless example of composure and control, to take him in hand and steer both of them through experiences that are entirely new for him. Fortunately, Harry’s fantasy requires no such preparation.

Quite the opposite, if anything. 

Harry sits up to move them closer together again, until his nose touches Eggsy's jaw, breathing hot on the parts of his neck he’ll want kissed if he's getting turned on and sure enough Eggsy tilts his head to bear his throat for sucking on. The dance itself is exciting, the hot sparkle of anticipation flooding down Harry's body, making him hard enough to show through the duvet over his lap. Eggsy slides a casual hand over the bedspread in acknowledgement, pressing softly on the ridge that Harry's cock forms, coaxing him on whilst they almost kiss, lips to ears and cheeks because they're side-on and want to keep talking. 

“You may not need to do anything but be your beautiful self.”  Harry would be more a fool than he is not to have considered it and he's never been more glad of the hours spent cultivating his fantasies along this theme.  _ Here's one I tossed off to earlier.   _ “It's hardly outside the realms of imagination that a man of my years might be a bit suggestible if it meant a chance at the attentions of someone like you, is it?”

A spark of recognition; Eggsy's breath catches in his throat. They’ve played this game - or something conceptually similar - before, albeit less blatantly. It’s the same feeling marbled through every time they’ve got a thrill out of scandalising onlookers, or come to bed hot and wanting after someone’s implied unflattering things about their age difference.  

Eggsy straightens his  jaw, uses a hand on Harry’s chest to push him back to where he can see but can’t reach to keep kissing him and gives harry a wryly imperious smile. 

“You wanna feel like you got to work for this, old man?”

_ Oh god _ , it suits him. Harry missed the first time he rolled out his Received Pronunciation and the first time he’d stood proud in his suit, but he imagines witnessing those would have been a similar experience: it's possible to tell, if you know Eggsy and you're looking, that it's a put on glamour, not really  _ him,  _ but it fits him so beautifully Harry loses the will to care in the same breath. It's obvious, and Eggsy looks ready to break character and laugh at him, at the way the sudden plunge into his fantasy has sucked all the air out of the room… if that would in fact be breaking character at all.  

“Something like that.”  _ Exactly like that _ . 

Eggsy chuckles, then, dry in his throat like wood on a fire. “Alright. Well, What do I wear?”

A slideshow -  in Harry’s mind’s eye - of Eggsy in every costume and fabric Harry’s aware of a fetish for, to which Harry’s prick seems to throb in time without any particular input from his intellect and with no regard at all that this is now not about catering to his whims... for all the good that does, because the idea of Eggsy disregarding them for his own comfort already turns Harry on and whatever Eggsy turns out to be most confident in will only fuel the fire.

“That would be up to you. If any of the over the top gear takes your fancy, this would be your chance, or I believe black tie is perfectly acceptable. Frankly I'd worship you in a bin bag.” He rolls towards Eggsy, not quite backing down the bed on his knees yet but obviously heading in that direction, teasing the hem of Eggsy’s polo shirt up to revere his stomach with his fingers, to lavish attention on his nipple and make him sigh with the pleasure of it.  As if this isn’t in itself the uniform of youthful temptation, easily capable of turning too many men like Harry weak at the knees with the mere prospect of the beauty underneath? 

“There's probably people into that.”

“Well. Indeed.” 

Eggsy neither stops him nor helps. Well, why should he? Harry leaves the shirt rucked up enough to bare Eggsy's stomach and trails his hand down to push under the waist of his garish boxers - bright blue with palm trees and pineapples today for some reason, themselves another reminder that Harry has, by hooks and crooks that shall remain an unknown factor to those who will be looking, netted a boy half his age and must express his gratitude.

“What do  _ you _ wear?”

“That would be up to you, too.” Just saying it sends a pleasant shiver through Harry, and he feels the way Eggsy tenses in response, sees the darkness flaring in his eyes at the step down the ladder into this unfamiliar pool as Harry tongues down the central groove of Eggsy's abs and works the fly of his jeans open. “I'd be dressing to please you, so you could choose whatever you wanted to see me in.”

Eggsy raises an eyebrow in consideration and Harry dares not ask. His taste in fashion is questionable at the best of times and Harry yet suspects there is a far more adventurous beast concealed under Eggsy’s casual acceptance of the kinks they’ve touched on so far. It says something, Harry supposes, that he’d be far more likely to use his right of veto on an outfit than any behaviour Eggsy might throw at him, but everybody has their limits.

“Alright. What do I … do?”

“Whatever you want. Drink, dance, make beautiful friends. Watch lovely, sexy things and enjoy them now you know I won’t allow you to be frustrated.” It’s punctuated with a kiss on the tantalising arc of a hipbone as Harry works Eggsy’s boxers down to free his cock and finds him harder than he anticipated - almost gets slapped in the face with it for his trouble, in fact -  and looks up for the moment Eggsy’s eyes flutter shut, hopefully at the implication that Harry will allow himself to be used to soothe an itch as much as the welcome warmth of his mouth. Harry sucks at him gently for a moment and then trails kisses off down the underside of Eggsy’s cock, pulls his boxers down further so that he can stroke underneath his balls and cup them, just softly. Eggsy sighs, tries to put his knees further apart but they’re stuck where he’s barely got his trousers down enough for this and that, for some reason, brings Harry out in a sweat. “If you want to play a little more than that, you could tell me what to do, what not to do." He doesn't know how much thought Eggsy has ever given to power exchange as a fetish but his excitement is willing to believe he'd want to play with it, that Eggsy would be excited to play at being in command given the inevitabilities of their dynamic otherwise. "God, Eggsy, I’d dote on every word to be seen doing what you told me. And if you decided I wasn't doing it well enough for your liking, I'd be yours to discipline as you saw fit.”

A hot quiver of excitement accompanies that admission. Harry can't really see that being where this goes but it could open the doors, could pave the way to finding out if there's any more where the spontaneous smacks on the arse Eggsy gives him sometimes when they're fucking come from. He suspects there might be. Eggsy apologised, the first time,  _ “got a bit carried away”;  _ Harry had told him in no uncertain terms that he was absolutely fine with it, might have gone a little overboard with the insistence that he could do that any time he felt inclined; Eggsy had given him another spank and called him filthy and Harry had come - untouched, something like humiliated -  over the arm of the sofa with Eggsy's laughter ringing in his ears. 

And it  _ is _ demeaning, in that perfect way that splits all the blood in Harry's body equally between the sting of his arse and the throb of his cock and Harry would be more than happy to be on the receiving end of that sensation independent of being fucked: ideally as a prelude, but not having the defining say in that is part of the charm.

For all his willing, Eggsy’s view of the scene remains unnuanced, his now relaxed face suddenly twisting in skepticism. “I ain't putting cigarettes out on you or nothing.”

_ “ _ No you most certainly are not.” The limits can be discussed another time. The giddy little flip that the image of Eggsy looking imperiously down at him whilst smoking causes can also consider itself dismissed: Harry knows that’s not a pain he enjoys, and more to the point he’s supposed to be supporting him to quit. “But short of that, if there’s anything you feel you’d like to get acquainted with, there’ll be people on hand to… I’m sorry, I literally cannot think of a term other than  _ show you the ropes _ . But you’ll have a willing subject.”

Eggsy indulges the pun with a laugh because he knows it wasn’t intentional, and winds his fingers up into Harry’s hair at the nape of his neck in a nice, possessive grasp which Harry hopes is deliberate.  He’s certainly not making any attempt to speed up the blowjob or even change the angle, merely resting his hand and following Harry’s pace as he ducks to swallow him down.

“You’d let… You’d be okay with doing all that in public.” It’s not as though this is a surprise to him, they’ve made no bones about getting a kick out of people staring so this escalation feels natural, somehow, as though they were waiting for it. “Not just the sex. All the rest of it?”

Harry releases Eggsy’s cock, wipes the spit from his mouth on the back of his wrist. “Oh, I’ve no objection to being seen at your feet at all. In any context.  You know how I enjoy being the subject of jealousy where you’re concerned.” 

Eggsy sort of laughs but it’s more a gasp because it comes right with the hitch of his hips and the tightening of his fingers as he pushes himself further into Harry’s mouth. 

“What, like it’s some sort of honour to get to suck my cock?”

“A fucking honour,” agrees Harry, ad pointedly allows the firm heat of his erection, loosely constrained by his pajama trousers, to push against Eggsy’s denim-clad shin - and there's the thrill rolling through Harry at the idea that Eggsy doesn't need to undress for this, doesn't and shouldn't have to make any more effort in order to get what he wants; Eggsy keens from his throat at the reassurance that Harry's hard: not bluffing.  He wants this to be real just as much as Harry does. 

Harry holds him down with splayed hands on the flat, hard heat of Eggsy’s stomach and noses down to take him into his throat and pull back slowly, dragging with his tongue all the way back up.

“You're exquisite, Eggsy.  Do you know what people in a place like that would do just for the chance to kneel for you?”

Eggsy's cock jerks under the heat of Harry's breath and he gives him another lick, a kiss or two to the throbbing ridge of the head, another long slow suck to keep him wet enough for Harry's hand to slip easily in quick strokes whilst he gets his breath back, rolling with the urgency of Eggsy’s breathing, waiting whilst he swallows a groan and sucks in a quick breath to speak.

“Think I’m the one they’re gonna be jealous of, seeing you treating me like that, waiting on me and… and  _ fuck, Harry, yes, _ letting me… letting me…”

“Do you want them to watch you fuck me?” And Eggsy whines then. That’s no surprise: his use of  _ let me  _ reminds Harry of the madness of how Eggsy sees them: as though he’s the lucky one, privileged to have Harry’s attention. He can work with that.  “To see how good you are, how willingly I’ll let you have me, just because the mood strikes you?”

Eggsy bites his lip and nods quickly, stroking his forefinger down Harry's cheek to coax him on. It's a shade more patient than the fistful of hair Eggsy will have when the time comes.... And there's an idea that stands up to more though, brings daydreams flooding in. Harry takes a deep breath.

“Though… clearly it’s your choice, but perhaps the first time could be just like this?” Eggsy waits, prick hitching with need enough to softly tap Harry on the chin.  “People are going to be watching us - watching you - and I’d love them to see how beautiful you are like this, and see me as just there to give you whatever you want. You should be pampered, and not have to lift a finger. That’s what I’m there for. ” Harry rubs his cheek along the side of Eggsy’s cock, not so much using his position for leverage as getting his breath for the final sprint but he’ll take it.  “Would you let me serve you, Eggsy?”

“ _ Fuck _ . Fuck, yes.”

So Harry gets to it, keen to prove his aptitude for the task although he finds the teasing and the conversation have done most of the work: Eggsy is impossibly thick and throbs when Harry squeezes tight around the base of his cock to hold it still, hold him back a pace whilst hetongues up the gratifyingly steady trickle of clear liquid rolling down.  Harry sucks the head onto his tongue and works the shaft with his hand, quick and simple and it’s not long before Eggsy’s flinging his arms up to cover his face, thighs trembling, stomach flexing with the effort of drawing it out.

Harry flushes with satisfaction at the reaction now, and the anticipation: he can barely imagine the pride, if he can relax Eggsy enough to be like that with an audience. Everyone knowing how good Harry makes him feel, distracted from their own dalliance for a moment or having it enhanced, even, by the view of this gorgeous boy taking his pleasure in the mouth of someone with the experience to make him writhe like that. Eggsy’s back sticking against leather seating, music pounding somewhere not quite drowning out the moans of nearby encounters, his senses swimming in hedonism whilst he fucks up into Harry’s willing throat. 

...Much like he is now, swearing and squirming, gasping out Harry’s name and a final  _ fuck don’t stop  _ when he’s too far back in Harry’s throat for Harry to even taste it when he comes,  whole body bolting stiff and shuddering through it so violently that it takes him a long moment to relax his grip on Harry’s hair.

Harry sits back feeling gut-punched, winded as though he's coming down from his own orgasm rather than just eggsy's. Perhaps selfless sex is coming to him at last: perhaps it's just because his body is alight with promise even whilst Eggsy spends a couple of moments flat on his back and panting. The satisfaction that sight gives Harry is more than enough to soothe him through the pause, and even more so Eggsy’s hand running through his hair, which isn’t something he’s done a lot to date because Harry’s shied away from telling him he likes it and, combined with the idea of publicly sitting at his feet like a well trained pet is just too much for Harry’s mind in its current sex-frazzled state. So absorbed, Harry doesn’t try to hold back the whiny murmur that draws out of him: he’s not sure why he’s allowed something so tame to embarrass him, particularly given how accepting Eggsy’s been of his other acquired tastes, and in that moment he makes no attempt to disguise the effect Eggsy pulling his hair has on him.

“You like that, yeah?”  Eggsy's voice is distant but keen: he’s fighting his sated urge for sleep because there’s so much potential in this for him still. No wonder Harry loves him.

“Which part?”

“This…”  and just as Harry might have hoped Eggsy pets lovingly through his hair again, then again, then tightens his fingers into a grab and yanks hard enough to draw a hiss out of him, and to send the mood in a sharp spiral back down from domestic cosiness to the pit it just crawled out of.

“Yes.” The honesty almost breaks his voice, but Harry manages. “So much.”

“Hmmm.”  

Harry lets Eggsy pull him up the bed by his hair, relishing every second of that particular discomfort and making no attempt to stop Eggsy putting a hand straight down to feel his straining excitement, to take him in hand. Ordinarily he’d try to avoid this direct a swap for fear of anything but full sex feeling like some sort of turn based system, but obviously the bubble of fantasy hasn’t quite burst for Eggsy and honestly, he’s too hard, too excited to stop him; perhaps stumbling further with the idea that it’s not for him to stop Eggsy touching him however he pleases. He can hear Eggsy’s triumphant, plotting smile in the breath against his ear.

“And then what? You gonna get up on my lap for me to take care of you, so everyone can see the reward you get for doing that for me?” 

Excitement is a wave again, sweeping through Harry at the hint of Eggsy praising him in diminutives, sweetly patronising. A further thrill, then, the realisation that  the only reward Harry wants from Eggsy with people watching is the proverbial pat on the head. Will Eggsy understand that being all the bigger gift in the absence of any pleasure for Harry himself? That being fed Eggsy's cock for his servitude is the best reward he could ask for? It’s worth a gamble. None of this fantasy is something they’re likely to trot out often, so it's worth doing well. 

“Uh.” Harry clears his throat, finds himself groaning as Eggsy starts working on him. “Would it be too weird if I'd rather they didn't?”

Whilst he waits for Eggsy to process that Harry revels in feeling his arousal simmer up to meet Eggsy's hands, the slow shockwaves coaxed through him with every stroke, every twist.

“...Performance anxiety?”

“Not a bit. I just…” It's an effort to swallow, the words are stuck in his throat. “I prefer the thought of you lying back and just being pleasured.”  _ Serviced _ , is the term more specific to the kink, but Harry is reluctant to waste the mood on Eggsy laughing that he  _ ain’t a fuckin Audi, thanks. _ They both know what he means. “I’d hate for anyone to think they’d give you more than I will. If it happens to look like you don’t have to care about me enjoying it I’d not-” - a rub of Eggsy’s palm over his cock makes him breathe out sharply through his nose. “- I’d not exactly be upset about it, put it that way.”

It follows without saying that there will be those who don’t twig that they’re a couple - that’s not uncommon in any context and Harry doesn’t blame them - and think that he is merely an easy mark Eggsy has picked up to favour with the honour of bankrolling his drinks and giving him an orgasm in whatever manner he sees fit, perhaps being slapped about somewhere in the middle for good measure. Harry’s grateful that Eggsy doesn’t need to understand how much that turns him on for it to work because having to explain it is a level of humiliation he hasn’t worked himself up to.

As it is, there’s not quite time to wince in the pause that follows. Eggsy’s never been slow on the uptake, but the lack of the expected pause for thought makes Harry wonder if his motivations haven’t been rather more transparent than he intended.

“You want people to see me letting you get me off, see me use you and not give you anything in return?” His words are incredulous but his eyes are hot, willing, and he’s caught on quickly where Harry realised he might think he was fishing for compliments. There’s the suggestion of a laugh under a strain in his voice but it’s more awestruck than mocking.   “Just zip up, like,  _ cheers _ , and carry on with my night?”

Harry groans, agreement and encouragement both. 

And Eggsy takes his hand away. “Fair enough then.”

It’s a testament to how thoroughly lost he is that Harry didn’t see that coming, didn’t spot the hazard he himself had set out before he tripped on it, and his eyes snap open in dazed panic.  “ _ No, _ Eggsy I’m - not  _ now _ , I-“

“Thought it was up to me?” Eggsy wiggles his fingers in a wave where he’s got his hand held  a span from Harry’s cock, teasing. He’s got a grin on his face like he’s been given the keys to one of Kingsman’s sportscars and told they don’t need it back in one piece. “Go on then. Beg me.”

_ Shit _ , but that sends a stab of need through Harry so abruptly that he feels it like an electric shock going to ground through the very base of his back. He should have been more prepared:he had more or less gifted the line to him, after all, but hearing it come out with such confidence, without a hint of the usual hesitation, hits him far harder than he expects. It’s  _ better  _ for how cheerfully offhand it is: not an affectation of porn movie dominance but a natural exertion of his power.just Eggsy, being Eggsy, with Harry helpless in his thrall. 

“ _ Please _ .”

“Please…?”

Has he been taking lessons, for heaven’s sake? Has he been bluffing his naivety all this time, letting Harry talk himself into this trap so that he can swing it shut so effortlessly with a few casual words and that bright, deadly smile?

Harry finds he wouldn’t even mind. 

“Please -” Harry flounders, not unwilling but uncertain: what will get him what he wants? What does Eggsy want? A title seems unlikely as they’ve never discussed it but Harry can’t think straight with the majority of his blood supply pounding against Eggsy’s loose, still fist where it closes back around him. Desperation.That's it: Eggsy wants  _ want. _ “Please touch me this time. I’ll do anything.” 

The words should feel ridiculous - for all his daydreams, this is the most transparent he’s been with Eggsy about this in particular, and it’s not a tone Harry’s accustomed to using  - but they’re almost liberating. Harry has shown his hand on this, now, and of course Eggsy is encouraging him in the best way he knows how: with the electrifying twist of his palm around the head of Harry’s cock. It’s a brilliant positive reinforcement technique, really. If it didn’t make him literally murderous to think about Harry would suggest he employed it in the field. As it is, he just allows the pleasure to wipe all higher thought from his mind. Eggsy is bliss.

“Anything, yeah?”

There's the tiniest spike of apprehension in case he asks for something Harry really doesn’t want to do, not that his brain will supply him with a single objection under this pressure, and isn’t that part of the beauty?  So he nods, desperately, trying to keep his hips still with Eggsy jacking Harry's cock at his own impatient pace. Harry's body would have none if it if he tried that sort of speed himself, but for Eggsy it will do anything. Harry will do anything.  

“‘Cos I’m gonna want all that. Want everyone to see how good you are for me.” Just as Harry thinks they've retreated into euphemism, Eggsy bites at Harry’s earlobe and sends another hot liquid shock down his back, his voice close and gritty in his ear. “Goin’ down on me in front of all them people, and I know you’ll make it good, cos you’re a fuckin’ showoff.”

Well, that’s every word of the truth and Harry just has time to reel through what might make Eggsy moan the loudest, attract the most hungry stares, as he feels the bruising press of Eggsy's thumb up under his bottom jaw. And then Eggsy's fingers push into his mouth and Harry is flicking and circling them with his tongue before he can be told to.  Eggsy's voice is hot and damp on the shell of Harry's ear, so close it could be inside his head.

“You're gonna make me come, with everyone watching, and after you'd still be hard as nails in your trousers, walking around trailing after me with the taste in your mouth…”  

At the very least Eggsy understands the fantasy enough to play with it convincingly but this, already, is too much. The idea that Eggsy might  _ want  _ to debase him, might find his own thrill in testing his power over Harry, is as instrumental in the shower of sparks down Harry's back as the pump of Eggsy's fist over his cock. 

Almost. He’s so close, the heat and suddenness of it stifling him, pressure building so that climax becomes an inevitable countdown, a fuse primed and waiting for the right touch, the right word. 

“...and you'd have to ask me really,  _ really _ nicely whether I'd let you have a drink to wash it down.” Eggsy’s fingers push in far enough to nudge the back of Harry’s throat whilst his other hand keeps a steady stroking at his cock, beautiful but almost incidental as bliss and filth reach a crescendo in Harry's head. 

It doesn’t matter that Eggsy’s spent and won’t get anything physically out of Harry sucking his fingers now: he sucks on them because Eggsy wants him to, and in that moment it doesn't matter that it's an obvious move to push him over the edge: Eggsy wants it. If Eggsy wants Harry to suck on his fingers and pretend they're his cock, Harry will devote those fingers the attention of his tongue as though his life depends on it. If Eggsy wants Harry to come thinking about  sucking him off in a room full of people, Harry will keep his eyes closed and focus on the hint of bitterness still at the back of his tongue, think about being seen at Eggsy’s feet, at his service, the people watching seeing nothing more than Eggsy’s hands tugging at fistfuls of Harry’s hair as he comes down his throat because Harry will keep still and swallow every drop.

It’s the fresh sense memory of having his hair yanked on that does it, in the end: Harry’s orgasm starts slow, a torturous spreading blaze that makes him whimper around Eggsy’s dripping fingers, shimmers for a moment and then flashes over, consuming him entirely. 

It leaves him breathless, dazed, blinking his eyes back into focus to find Eggsy staring at him like he’s just unleashed some magical being , like he did in that pub years ago -  though, if anything Harry suspects he may be the one who’s created a monster. The more worrying revelation is that his initial response to this thought feels, masochistically, like hope. 

And then Eggsy kisses him, soft and sweet and so inextricably suffused with love that it sends Harry reeling, touching his swollen lips with his fingertips after Eggsy springs out of bed for the shower, almost cracking his knee on the dresser where he’s still got his feet in his trouser legs and swearing about it all the way through the door. His laughing chatter fades the normality back in slowly like hearing returning after a bomb blast, the world slotting ever so slightly more correctly into place as Harry realises he is not rendered weak by harrowing actual torture or by caricatures in rubber catsuits brandishing riding crops: what puts him on his knees - willingly, so willingly - in every sense is the love of the young man currently scraping the last of Harry’s moisturiser out of the jar with the back of his thumbnail, treading on the bottoms of his pyjama trousers as he slopes back to bed.

Briefly, Harry wonders what on earth Eggsy's bedtime routine would consist of at his age if he hadn't shacked up with a fifty two year old: Harry wonders such things about many of the details of Eggsy's lifestyle. He’s concluded that he almost definitely wouldn't have ever ended up succumbing to passion on the settee with radio four still on in the background, only to be so comprehensively put off his stroke by the opening music to  _ The Archers _ . But then, perhaps he’d also still be fumbling his way through FHM and his idea of adventurous eroticism would be that godawful pina colada flavoured lubricant. And his skincare routine would still leave a lot to be desired, Harry would wager. 

  


***

Of course, on the night it doesn’t quite go like that.

Eggsy gets propositioned by a man in velvet drinking red wine out of a pewter goblet who insists his name is Moriarty;  Harry realises one of the striking women in rubber with her feet up on a merchant banker - an actual merchant banker, not the slang, although he’s known the two to be anything but mutually exclusive - is a not-distant-enough relative, which is supremely awkward; they recognise one of the cage dancers as an agent from a friendly agency, follow her cues when an opportunity opens up and by dawn the venue’s rubble, the ring is foiled and there are three less organ traffickers in the world.

“Bit much,” surmises Eggsy, wiping blood off his face and his vinyl tank top, surprised when it comes back to a clean shine. “Get in! Look at this! Harry, we should have everything made out of this.”

They most certainly should not.

Despite having been on the line throughout, Merlin takes the opportunity to greet Harry, who acquires a cracked tibia, several broken ribs and a black eye in an admirable combat roll landing from a third floor window with “Jesus man, that’s what safewords are for,” and Harry manages to thoroughly derail him from laughing at his own joke with a scoffed “please, they’re for when you actually want to  _ stop.” _

In recompense for his admirable efforts in saving lives again, and perhaps for the incredibly poor timing with which their window to act yanked them from the curtained doorway of the couples’ room, nobody fixes the records when they catch Eggsy sniggering, going through all the files to amend ‘Operation Divert’’ to ‘Operation Pervert’.

And they’ll just have to find another excuse to set up Kay and Gawain. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please do let me know if you enjoyed it. Comments and kudos and lovely things like that are often what keeps me going.
> 
> If you'd like me to frantically rant at you about silly ideas which I will eventually turn into fics after droning at you for weeks, please come talk to me on tumblr- randomactsofviolence.


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